A shining path to terror

A question we routinely ask during our artisan interviews is where the artisans are from, and, as it’s most often outside of Lima, why they moved here. The answer most frequently given is, “because of the terrorism”. Their answers don’t go much farther than that. I usually don’t press them for more info, not wanting to be rude or pry, but I often wondered what that meant. Their answer was abstract, until we went to the 6th floor of the Museo de la Nación.


Between 1980 and 2000, the Shining Path, or Sendero Luminoso, took over towns and entire regions of Peru, killing and “disappearing” people indiscriminately in their quest to abolish the governmental structure and institute something akin to anarchy. Peru had long been governed by the military, but the first democratically elected government had just taken power in 1980. This new government was loathe to send in the army to quell the senderistas, concerned that granting the military this authority would reempower it.


Several years into the conflict, the government finally couldn’t justify ignoring the senderistas any longer and sent in the military. Unfortunately, the military didn’t act differently than the senderistas, racking up massacres, rapes and disappearances of their own.


No one could trust anyone else – perhaps you were really a senderista out to intimidate or kill them, for whatever reason. If someone was from the government militia, that was zero guarantee that they were there to help. In fact, you could almost count on the opposite.


Complicating matters was another guerrilla group, the MRTA (the Tupac Amarú Revolutionary Movement). Although they appear to have acted on a much smaller scale and took responsibility for their actions, they were nonetheless responsible for bombings, taking hostages, and raids. (Now that I have read more about the MRTA’s takeover of the Japanese embassy in 1996-7, I wonder if one of my favorite novels, Ann Patchett’s Bel Canto, is based on that experience. There are so many factual similarities. If you are looking for an excellent and beautifully written book to read this summer, pick up Bel Canto!)


As the violence picked up and casualties mounted in the early 1980s, families started sending their children to live with relatives in Lima, or relocating the whole family here. This gave Lima another in what had been a series of population explosions, and was ill-equipped to handle the flood of refugees. Many people made a home wherever they could, in the sands in Lurín, shanty towns in Chorrillos, in slums in the middle of the city, or on mountain hillsides, without water or electricity. 


Once in Lima, life didn’t necessarily improve, as many migrants were not only living in squalid conditions but were also met with suspicion and hostility, as Limeños were worried that the new migrants were senderistas themselves.


Things came to an end, mostly, by 2000 through brutal and questionable methods. The Fujimori government had cracked down hard on the senderistas, through corrupt and illegal techniques and racked up many human rights abuses in the process. Eventually, enough of the senderista leadership was captured or killed that it was paralyzed as a government “reform” organization.


The Sendero Luminoso still exists today, but is now primarily a cocaine smuggling operation. My Spanish teacher, Silvia, says that the senderistas still control certain areas of Peru, and I frequently read headlines about senderista activity. But it doesn’t seem as emotionally or fearfully charged now as it was several decades ago. (Of course, I’m not sure whether the people who live in the areas with active senderista involvement would agree with that.) A recent set of headlines has revolved around the revelation that a current senderista leader is recruiting and using children as soldiers, with perhaps 80 children under his command.


Once Fujimori fled the country in 2000 to escape prison (although not for long; he’s currently incarcerated here), the next president established a Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Between 2001 and 2003, the Commission held public meetings, collected testimonies, and completed much research.


Through their investigations, they determined that nearly 70,000 people were killed during what is now called “the internal conflict”. Nearly half of the deaths was attributed to the senderistas, an almost equal amount was attributed to the army, and a small percentage was attributed to the MRTA. The Commission also made recommendations for reforms in their final report, in which they noted that the Sendero Luminoso and the Peruvian army were major perpetrators of human rights abuses. They called out the Catholic Church, so important in Peru, for its steadfast determination to look the other way instead of taking a stand against these abuses.


The Commission culled photos and videos from news sources, individuals, and the government to create an archive, called Yuyanapaq (“to remember” in Quechua). And now, on the 6th floor of the Museo de la Nación, that archive is open to the public, a gripping and graphic exhibit of just how far people can go when power or zeal overtakes them and the people are powerless to stop them.


By law, to incorporate a business in Peru, you need three people, called socios. Manos Amigas was formed by Yannina, her brother Roberto, and their mother, Angélica. My Spanish school, Elelatina, was formed by my teacher/the director and two of her siblings. Learning more about Peruvian history makes me wonder whether having family businesses is a ramification of the internal conflict, because when you can’t trust anyone, you turn to your family.


It also makes me wonder if that is why, in the back of every notebook you could possibly buy, the 1948 United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights is printed.


Since learning more about what “the terrorism” meant, I’ve been more frank in asking questions when artisans mention it as their reason for leaving Ayacucho, one of the regions that was completely under senderista control. And it’s been scary and sad to hear more, but I’m thankful to learn more about what happened to them and why they were driven to seek a better life in Lima. Rosana’s father was murdered just after she turned 9. “He was the governor of the district, and the senderistas were looking for those in authority. So they killed him.” She was sent to live with an aunt in Lima soon after, for her safety. She later moved in with her father’s brother, after he and his family relocated to Lima when he received word that the senderistas were coming for him next.


Another artisan, Fredy, told us that he couldn’t wait to leave Ayacucho, since he had to spend his days hiding. “I had to leave before it got light out, and then spend days or nights in the mountains or in tunnels.” He finally came to Lima when he was 13. “The senderistas would come into a town at night. They would raid a home, kill all the old people, leave anyone younger than 3, and then kidnap or disappear everyone in between. The youngest ones were left to die. Some of my uncles, some cousins were disappeared. Some lived, some died.”

One of the final rooms in the exhibit features walls filled with quotes from participants in the Truth and Reconciliation Commission's  research. This one, very roughly translated, says, "All of the dead people had names and families, and the violence has reduced them to photos and memories. Let's not let their deaths be in vain. Let us please not forget!"